


A Kiss With A Fist

by ObsidianMichi



Series: Abelas and Lavellan at Skyhold [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianMichi/pseuds/ObsidianMichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Skyhold, Eirwen and Abelas take to the sparring arena in this silly one shot. Mild violence, flirting, and fluff ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss With A Fist

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I don't own anything in this fic, not even the slight alterations and additions I made to the lore. Not even my Lavellan. I just put words in a row

Eirwen’s fist whipped up, plunging into Abelas’ stomach. Stepping forward, her hands rose and slammed into both his ears. The older elf stumbled. Cranking her knee to her chest, she rammed the ball of her foot into his gut.

“Yeah! Herald!”

Abelas flew backwards. Hitting the wooden fence surrounding the practice yard, his back to the cheering soldiers. His bald head gleamed in the noon day sun, dappling across the new fuzz of fine, white hair springing from his scalp.

Someone in the crowd slapped his bare shoulder.

“Get her, Abelas!”

He lifted his head, yellow eyes gleaming. A smile yanked hard at the side of his mouth. Wiping his lips with muddy knuckles, he stepped forward. “You have been practicing,” Abelas said.

Lifting her hands, Eirwen reset her position. Fingernails brushed her cheek, the other hand low and guarding her waist, she kept both loose and open. Settling back on her left leg and dropped into her stance. “Oh, yes,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want to shame my teacher!”

“Kick his ass, Inquisitor!”

The hand by her cheek tightened into a fist and she raised it, gave it a shake. “Without a doubt!”

Laughter rippled through the surrounding crowd.

“Ah,” Abelas chuckled. “I see you again overestimate yourself, Lethallan.”

“Today is my day, hahren.” A smirk twisted, lopsided, on her mouth. She held up a hand, fingers twitching. “Bring it.”

He lunged.

Catching the first kick with her shin, she whipped it out and knocked his leg away. Foot planted in the mud, her body twisted, right foot lifting as she wheeled. Her knee swung up, tight in a chamber, and then her hips rolled over, kick sweeping through the air toward his temple.

His elbow tucked tight against his ear, violet-blue barrier flickering.

The top of her foot slammed into him. Her energy rolled against his, shimmering, quivering, shaking.

Abelas shoved her away, sweeping her left leg. His ankle hooked hers, his palm flat against her chest. He yanked his foot back in time with a hard shove, and she went down. Back crashing into the mud, Eirwen slid back. Cold water clung to her neck, tickling her scalp, splashing over her chest in a spray of black-brown sludge.

Abelas’ heel struck downwards.

She rolled, springing to her feet.

Another splash of water hit the air, his foot connecting with a vacated puddle.

She swung away, circling. Eyes flicking over the curvature of his bare chest, his pale skin, the rippling abdominal muscles, his muscular arms toned by over a thousand years of dedicated training. Swallowing, Eirwen let her fists tighten up. _His legs aren’t so bad either._ Nice to see the tight armor wasn’t just for show. She nearly shook her head. _Focus._

“You continue to surprise me, Lethallan,” Abelas said. Yellow eyes followed her, his smile pulling wider.

“I know,” Eirwen replied.

“You adjust well to our training.”

“As you have said.” Eirwen leaped forward, launching a flurry of blows struck out at his chest and head.

Rough calluses of his palms and fingertips slid over her skin, her knuckles, her wrists, tingling. “Still.” He knocked each punch away. “The path of Dirth’ena Enansal is not for those faint of heart.”

She slid beneath a return strike, fist hammering his ribcage. “And?” She gripped the back of his head and drove her knee into his stomach.

His barrier sparked. Crackled. His head flew forward.

Their gaze locked.

Eirwen grinned. “Is my heart faint?”

Abelas caught her, whipped her around, arms wrapping across her body. Squeezing. Her bare back pressed to his equally bare chest. The cut of his muscles rubbed against her, left a warm, tingling sensation running up her spine. He lifted her high. His voice murmured in her ear, “We shall see.”

“Oh, ho!”

“Abelas!” Elves in the crowd chanted. “Abelas! Abelas! Abelas!”

Rocking, she tucked her legs to her chest. They sprung out. Head knocked back. It clashed with his nose.

His barrier cracked. Failed.

Grin widening, Eirwen hit him again.

He stumbled.

Her feet hit mud. Her leg lifted and struck out, heel driving deep into his abdomen.

Abelas grunted. Blood dribbled down his lip, slipping off his chin. Fingers sparking, blue energy rippled over his shoulders.

Head turning, Eirwen spun, wheeling, her right leg whipped toward his skull and… went through him. Off balance, she slid on the ground’s slimy surface. Abelas’ fist struck out, slamming into her diaphragm. Air hurled from her lungs, she staggered back. Gasping, gulping, she tried to straighten. Saw the second hit come. His fist caught her under the jaw, the third slammed into her chest, and she flew back.

Her barrier shattered.

Hitting a fence post, Eirwen slid into the mud with a groan.

Abelas strode through the mud. He came to a stop, his broad back blocking out the sun. She half-expected him to grab her by the hair but, instead, he extended a hand.

With a smile, she took it and let him haul her to her feet.

“Well done, Inquisitor!” Called someone in the crowd.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Eirwen straightened. One hand brushed down her chest, knocking away excess smears of black sludge. She tilted her head. Already, the rush of battle faded. Away went the tingling adrenaline blocking out her aches and pains. Now, the burning sting of new bruises were setting in. Glancing up, her gaze met her mentor’s yellow eyes. There was a glint there. His leonine irises held her. She watched his stern mouth pull into another smile.

“You all right?” Another voice asked.

Abelas gave her fingers a warm squeeze.

“Andraste’s ass! Abelas is tough to beat!”

Eirwen answered his smile with a grin of her own. Her grip tightening on his hand. Then, she laughed. Turning, she raised a fist to the crowd.

They responded with whooping applause.

“Indeed, Lethallan,” Abelas murmured into her ear. “Well done.”

“Yeah?” Mud slid down her back, skin chilled by the mountain cold. A burning sensation flickered in her stomach when another wet, _warm_ lump landed on her shoulder. “I think I’ve got splinters.”

Abelas flicked a glob off her nose.

“And you,” she continued. “You’re helping me find them,” she glanced back, her eyes narrowed. She lifted her chin. “All of them, Abelas. Every last one.”

He chuckled. “If it is your desire then I will aid you as best I can.”

Rapping her knuckles on his bare chest, she nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

His laughter rumbled in her ears, vibrating against her back.

“You laugh now,” Eirwen said. “But it could get infected. I could get sick.” She grinned. “Who would run the Inquisition?” She sucked in a false gasp. “Who would take care of me?”

“Perhaps, a bath is required as well then?” Abelas leaned forward. “We would not want you to acquire a chill.”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

“In all things, your delicate _shemlen_ constitution must be considered.”

Eirwen paused. She leaned back, felt the warmth of his chest, the gentle thudding of his heart. Her grin slimmed into a smirk. Slowly, she rested her head against his throat. “On second thought,” she murmured. “Best two out of three?”

An answering grin pulled against her hair. Tingles raced down her spine. His hands settled on her shoulders. Callused thumbs traced the line of her collarbone. “If that is your wish, Lethallan, I will not deny you.”

“We shouldn’t take up any more of these men’s time, though,” she continued.

“Indeed, we should not.”

“My quarters?” Eirwen asked. “There’s more than enough room to continue this… discussion.”

Abelas laughed. “I believe that would be best, Inquisitor.”

Together, they headed for the gate. Eirwen tried to ignore the stiffness in her back, her legs, and arms, the chill of mud settling on her back. Walked from the training yard, ignoring a mild desire to limp. Hand in hand, they headed up for the main hall with fingers intertwined.


End file.
